Political thoughts on a Monday morning

 Politics, Politics, Politics 

 

I have been trying to avoid ranting, yet here I am at 6 am thinking of crap 

Bounce along with me. 

 

It's August 3.  The mythical date set in Kentucky so that they can finally pull whatever artificial machine has been keeping Mitch McConnel technically alive might be magically unplugged.  I am not clear on what happens, but apparently the Governor cannot replace him outright and cannot call for a special election.  So IMHO, undead Mitch is doing his best work right now.  We will see in the coming days. 

I am reading that we are low on bombs   Ya think Punch-drunk Pete and his insistence that we keep bombing the crud out of everyone might be at fault here?  Maybe trump's hard on for killing people for no good reason has finally caught up to him. And if I know is, sure as heck IRAN knows it. 

Did you see that there was a failed attack on the water supply in Wisconsin.  They caught it, but who did trump blame?   that's right his current favorite not existent "terrorist" group –Antifa!  For those in the MAGAverse who did not go to school, ANTIFA is short for antifascist, so if ANTI FASCISTS are the ENEMY of our government, the government is (what, Class?)  FASCISTS! That's right!  DINGDINGDINGDINGDING 

I am getting weary of politics, but I think overload is the point.  I think they want to wear us down, so resistance is non-existent.  If you are feeling this way too, step back.  Do something you love.  For me that means dinners with friends, a small much needed vacation and reading.  I went to see "The Odessey" well not really it was sold out- but it gave me a chance to buy the Emily Wilson translation and a chance to read it again before I try to go to the movies again.  I am woefully lacking in my memory of the poem. 

I saw a t-shirt I thought I might buy.  it says, "dance is resistance, ask the Irish." I don't dance; I have the grace of a three-legged elephant. But I think about that.  ART can be resistance.  I need to start writing my next book.

Draft- Roller Coaster

 

You know the feeling

when you are at the top

of the first hill 

of the roller coaster

holding your breath

thinking

"I can't do this"

but then

you fall

you rise

and you've done it

Just like you knew you could

This is your daily reminder

Your record for surviving difficulty

so far

is 100%

Funerals are for the living

 An old friend died a few weeks ago.  His funeral was yesterday and I wanted to honor our long acquaintance. It was one of those work friendships that stop and start, but always warm and convivial .  He challenged my intellect.

So I went to the Mass.

I did not go to the wake and gathering the day before.  I almost NEVER go to the internment and for reasons I will explain below, I did not go to the after gathering.

The Mass was at a church in my childhood neighborhood and I remember going there for Mass with my neighbor, Sandy.  I am not Catholic, but Sandy was and she HAD to go to Mass every Sunday so often when she missed going with her siblings, she would convince me to go.  I had to put on a dress and put a bow in my hair ( this was before the whole head covering rule was removed, a bow was acceptable for young girls.)

I remember arriving breathless ( we ran) on the steps and entering the vestibule, where there were candles you could light, after making a small donation, to honor the dead or something like that. I was not clear on the concept.  The church was dark and hushed as we scrambled into the pews- Sandy would genuflect, but I just crouched down and slid in beside her.   The Mass was in Latin and I remember her poking me to get up or kneel at the appropriate moments.

The church has been redesigned since those days in the 60s  I walked around, past the old steps to wide glass doors. I walked into a light , airy space that reminded me more of a social hall than a church.  The pews looked like they could be moved out of the way for a dance or a party.  It all felt... temporary.

I sat by myself and and some point, realized the only person I knew was the one we were mourning.  I sat quietly, no one approached me or spoke to me.  I felt like an interloper. I sat, thinking about my friend, our debated and our laughter.  I thought of what I knew of him  and wished there were stories being told ( I think there was an event the day before, but I usually avoid Wakes.)

The sound in the room was terrible.  At one point, I wondered if the priest was doing the Mass in Latin, it was so garbled ( yes I had my hearing aids in, yes I had them up high)

It was just a Mass.  The way the priest spoke my friend's whole name when he mentioned him as part of the Mass made it feel less personal. I found myself wondering if he even knew him or was just contracted to perform the mass.   The vibe in the room felt... off. There were no eulogies and we were dismissed without much emotion.

Funerals are to comfort the living. I thought about the rituals of Funeral Masses and how they are supposed to be comforting.  I was not comforted.

No one made any announcements about the rest of the day and I felt terribly out of place, so I came  home.  I will think about my friend this weekend and probably off and on for the rest of my life.  We shared a birthday, although he was younger than me. Remembering his life, the impact of our friendship  will stay with me.

Rest in Power, Marcos.   And try not to give God a hard time.

 

very short poem

 

I had a dream about a friend who died a few years ago.    It was an odd "visit"  Things between us still somewhat unresolved.

This poem.  Very short.  Which, if you have read my book "Small Bites" you know that's how I write them

I called to say goodbye

she said

words she had practiced

until they were completely right

said to 

unanswered rings

that played in her ear

For Jules

 You were probably

scattered in the wind

Fitting and proper for a gypsy dancer

But I have no place to sit and mourn you

No place to lay a single white rose

No place to shed my tears

I will think of you

As I watch the waves push onto the shore

Or in a garden of trees

I think of our early days

Laughing

And lying on the cool cement of an airplane hanger

Drunk from the heat and too much sloe gin

Always laughing whenever we were together

I will try not to regret

What should have been

And rejoice what was

And is always with me.

Poetry

 so, I did a thing last night.  I read from my book and talked about poetry, these poems and life in general to a group of about ten people.  I think it went well and I appreciated the love and support from people who knew how important this was to me. 

I wrote a book.  Yes.  After around 60 years of saying and dreaming I did it.  I have read one or two poems at local open mikes but this was all .. me.  Talking about me and my process and my history.

I think it went ok.

Several people asked  "what next?"  I don't know, but this morning I thought I would start writing more poems. I started THIS blog to write every day and maybe I should spend more time doing just that- this blog plus poetry every day.  

I think I will start a personal blog for my poetry and see where it takes me, sharing here when I think it is appropriate.

My book is available on Amazon, but the Friends of the Los Feliz Library bought a batch, I have them so if you want one, hit me up.  Donation goes back to the Friends  $11 bucks.

This one can be signed by me ( lol)

Ghosts

 

Do you believe in ghosts

she asked

not looking at me

but drawing out lazy circles

from the condensation

of her now-empty glass

Do you mean ghosts that appear 

in front of you

at the foot of your bed

wordlessly demanding answers

or the kind that attach themselves to your soul

Haunting you 

with longing 

and regret

for the past they alone inhabit

I suspect she could not answer me

any more than I could answer her

as she continued to stare at her fingers

tracing circles in the non-existent  culaccino 

\